


Better Than One

by herbailiwick



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Friendship, M/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-29
Updated: 2012-09-29
Packaged: 2017-11-15 06:34:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/524182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herbailiwick/pseuds/herbailiwick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For tumblr's starling-girl. Happy birthday!</p><p>Sally and John (and Mycroft) just want to make sure Lestrade is going to be okay.</p><p>First person POV (John's).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Than One

After Sherlock's death, I tried not to think too much about Lestrade. I mean, we got on alright, but he'd been Sherlock's friend, not mine, and I knew he'd been jealous of the fact Sherlock preferred my company to his most of the time. In fact, I was fairly sure Lestrade had been in love with Sherlock.

Despite not seeking him out, I kept seeing him around. At a cafe here, at a pub there, in articles where he was still solving crimes, though not as quickly. But he avoided my gaze if he noticed me, and sometimes he did notice me and ignored me right again. He was doing these things alone. I was doing them alone too. He looked sad, but it was like the sight of me made him sadder.

It was Sally Donovan, actually, who checked up on me from the Yard, and not Lestrade. She offered for us to go out for a drink. She was polite about it, and she wasn't the least bit flirty, just quietly concerned like she'd really always been, so I accepted. If she'd tried to flirt, I probably would have yelled at her. But she understands respect, Sally, the woman who called Sherlock a freak, and then called him a fake, and then rubbed my nose in it. She still understands respect.

"You can talk about him, if you want," she finally said, with just a hint of guilt. When she wasn't working, she let herself be a bit more vulnerable. Sally really has a good heart. If she didn't, I wouldn't have been sitting across from her contemplating talking about Sherlock. 

I looked away as I said, after a silence that seemed to make her feel bad for asking, "He was like the best friend I've ever had, but more than that too. And I was that for him. And it's like...I mean, people just assume. They just assume I was blindly following him around with no rewards but." I looked up and met her fixed gaze. "He stole an ashtray from Buckingham Palace because I mentioned I thought it'd be funny. I own an ashtray from Buckingham Palace. It was like...because I was his friend, nothing was too good for me. No one else gives me a second look." I paused. "Well, you do. Thanks, for this," I said, gesturing to the pub.

She smiled a bit. "No, I know what you mean about him. People don't realize, but that was him all over. I am genuinely sorry for your loss, John. Sure, I wanted him to be less of an arse, and then less of a...criminal, but this?" She shook her head. "I feel a little guilty. And it's not really my fault if he was a fraud, you know? It's not really my fault if he was suicidal. But it's one of those things where you just wonder if you could have done something different."

I stared at her. Yeah, good heart was right. "Yeah," I said. "It's like that."

"And then, for me, add onto that that he trusted me. He always liked me." I frowned in confusion at that. "If you read between the lines, John, he really trusted me," she said. Then she sighed, resting her chin in her hand. "Look at me, going on about the man who conned Scotland Yard."

I quirked my lip. "I still don't believe it."

"I know. If I was his friend like you were, I might not believe it either. I didn't ask you out here to stop you believing in him. I just wanted to see how you were. You're gonna be okay," she said with a soft smile. "You're gonna be okay, even if you'll be different, changed somehow. I'm glad to see you smiling a bit. Greg's not smiling real smiles, just these pathetic little...ah, never mind, though," she said warily. "I mean, that's his business."

"I've seen him around," I said with a bit of concern. "He, er. He had feelings for Sherlock, I think."

"Oh, you have no idea, John," she said, an aching in her gaze and her tone. "He's just the sweetest man, and he's been through so much lately. I invite him out, but mostly he doesn't accept. He's working same as ever, perhaps even a little more focused now. But there's something hollow in him now, you know?"

"I know _exactly_ what you mean," I said sadly. He really was a very sweet man. If anyone had blindly followed Sherlock around, it was Lestrade. And they'd had such interesting banter, like a father and son, like an old married couple. I was never meant to replace Greg, and I never intended to. And I don't think I ever did, no matter if he saw it that way.

"We'll be doing alright, and then he'll remember something. We'll be near somewhere where Sherlock pulled something really stupid and memorable and he'll just leave me for a second. I'd like to at least set him up on a date or something, if he feels ready. I mean, the divorce is still pretty new, so he might not be. But they'd been sort of separated. Maybe I shouldn't be saying this," she admitted. "It's personal."

"I could try and introduce him to someone. I have this friend at work. And then, we know he likes Molly, the girl who works at the morgue."

"And I do know a guy or two," she said thoughtfully.

"Wait. Lestrade—?"

"Is bisexual," she said with an amused quirk to her lip. "You didn't notice how he was about Sherlock? Like a little lovesick dog." She grinned for the first time since we'd sat down. "Told me he thought Sherlock's brother was handsome, too."

Well, that was unexpected! I let out a bark of laughter. Mycroft! 

"Aren't you, actually?"

"What, handsome?" I said, caught off-guard. "Uh, I get that, sometimes. Others say I look like the wrong end of a badger, but."

She laughed. "No. Bisexual. Aren't you bisexual? I mean, the way you looked at him sometimes...."

I thought about how to answer that rather personal question. "I don't want to make it seem like men have as equal an opportunity of catching my fancy as women do," I said plainly, "but men have been known to catch my fancy, yeah. Wouldn't call myself bisexual because it doesn't sound quite right for me."

"Labels are stupid anyway," she said. "Forget labels." She stared at me for a moment, and I stared back.

"...Okay?" I said.

"Tell you what," she said. "We'll do this again and we'll make him come along. We can find out first hand what he'd be interested in. He gets to talking if you get a little something in him. I just want to see him happy for a bit, with real smiles. He deserves it."

"He does," I admitted.

"Even if he only has a single date with someone, I've gotta think even the idea someone would still find him dateable would lift his spirits. He's been so weird about social things, but maybe we could pull him out of this, between the two of us."

"Okay," I said. "Yeah. I mean, I guess he lost two people he loved, if he _did_...love Sherlock. Definitely cared about him, anyway."

"Let me give you my number," Sally said, holding her hand out for my mobile, which I easily placed in her hand.

***

He'd been rejecting her invitations to have a drink and he likely would have done the same if I'd asked alone. But when we asked together, he looked between us and gave in.

"Alright," he said. "Let's go, then."

And we did.

"I've been tryin'," he slurred at me after an hour of small talk punctuated by moments of remembering Sherlock, "not to drink socially."

"It's okay to let go a little," Sally said. "We're not here with you to be impressed, you know. We just care about you. You care for everyone else and not yourself, so someone's got to."

Greg looked oddly touched, staring at her with tears welling in his eyes.

"If you were to start dating again," I asked, "do you think you'd be ready?"

"Awww, c'mon," he said with a chuckle, grinning a bit. "Who'd want to date me now?"

It was said with the same certainty I'd felt when I thought no one would want me as a flatmate. I felt a wave of sympathy for him. 

"But, no, I mean, think about it," I said. "There are reasons someone would want to."

"Nahhhhhhhhh." He rested his hands behind his head, his elbows out, leaning backward. "Dating's for other people. I'll just get cheated on. No one cares to be with me, not even," his breath hitched slightly, "not even someone who promised me they would." He looked down for a moment, then plastered a grin in place, but he didn't mean it. 

I bit my lip in thought. How could someone make him feel that way? From what I'd seen of the situation, he'd been faithful to her. He'd worked hard, of course, married to his work like Sherlock had been. He was patient and nice, even when he was stretched and stressed and pulled every which way by his job or by Sherlock. 

If he'd been married to his wife who was unfaithful and stayed faithful and at the same time had fallen for Sherlock, who could blame him?

"Were you in love with Sherlock?" Sally blurted out. I stared at her. So, sitting up straight again, did Lestrade.

"John, or me?" he asked.

"You, silly," Sally said with a grin. 

"Yeah," he said with a nod. "I reckon I was." 

Suddenly, he reached over and hugged me to him. He was warmer than I expected, and smelled like coffee and beer and...silver polish. "You were too, weren't ya? Right pair we are," he murmured, nosing my temple. "Not an easy man to love, and harder to stop lovin'."

Just as quickly, he'd released me again, giving me a pat on the back. "You should be the one talkin' about dating. Everyone wants you. Y'get girlfriends all the time," he chuckled, absently patting my shoulder. "John Watson. Doctor, ex-army, smooth talker. I stutter and embarrass myself around cute people."

"Unless you know them," Sally piped up. "So, what if you dated someone you already know?"

Lestrade blinked and titled his head, turning to look at her. "You guys are all I know, now. And neither of you'd want to be saddled with me."

"Not true," Sally said. "Not true, sir. I think...I think both of us would give it a shot. And you're crazy if you think we'd cheat on you."

He looked at us in slow turns, trying to gauge our sincerity.

"It's...yeah, it's true," I admitted. "I'm not the cheating type, and I wouldn't do that to you. You deserve...someone patient who'll listen to you and, er, make sure you know your loyalty to them isn't wasted."

He launched himself at me again, and then did the same to Sally. "Thanks, guys. What a nice thing to say," he said in a choked voice. "What a bloody nice thing to say."

***

"Maybe you should ask him out," Sally said as we sat in the park with a coffee. 

"I don't know. Maybe." 

"You'd really consider it?"

"Yeah." I paused, thinking about the cool resignation he'd had about cheating being an inevitability. "I've never actually dated a man before, but...he's not just any man, is he? And that smile," I said, feeling my face heat.

"God, yeah. He's gorgeous. The greyer he's gone, the more gorgeous. And his voice...yeah, it's beautiful. He's a real catch. Maybe I could take him out shopping, get him something with a bit of color. You think he'd trust me enough to go do that?"

"Well, yeah, probably. I mean, you'll be quick about it, methodical. You won't get distracted by everything in the store. You know," I paused, sighing. "Sherlock was hell to shop with."

She leaned closer, nudging me a bit. "Oh, do tell," she said, settling next to me until I had no choice but to start telling her about Sherlock once again.

***

"So," said Mycroft. "You're interested in Detective Inspector Lestrade."

"I know you're like best friends, Mycroft," I said coolly. At least, that was what Lestrade had said. "So could we just be normal for a second and call him Greg?"

His gaze glittered with something annoying but relatively harmless as he looked at me. "I'm just trying to ensure things go smoothly. It's no less than he would have done for you."

I knew "he" meant Sherlock, but I was glad Mycroft hadn't said Sherlock's name aloud. I didn't want to feel like punching Mycroft again; once was enough. Honestly, I hadn't liked the betrayal on his face. I was past that point. That pain had dulled enough. I'd been trying to move on. So had Sally. So had Greg.

Mycroft reached into his jacket pocket and brought out a few sheets of folded paper, handing them over. 

"Here's a list of things I know about Greg. Yes, we're...friends," he said as if the word was foreign to him. "This should help you in the courting process, don't you think?"

I opened the pages, looking over the information. Actually, it seemed useful, and not so personal that I felt like a creep for even reading it. I looked up at Mycroft. "And what do you want from me in return?"

He narrowed his eyes in that way that meant what I'd said was so stupid or unthinking that I'd mildly offended him. "Just make him happy, John," he said. "God knows he's deserved it."

I nodded slowly.

"His wife never saw the things in him that I see, that Sherlock and Sally and you can see. She was blind, and he most emphatically deserved better. I wanted to give you a fair start, in as much as I can. You," he paused, looking down for a moment, "you might not realize it, but I believe in you. I trust you like I'd trusted Sherlock. I trust you like he trusted you." He didn't dare look up for a moment.

I studied the words in front of me, swallowing. "I'll do my best," I finally said. 

He chuckled like I'd amused him, looking me in the eye again. "If you wouldn't mind not telling him that I meddled, I'd appreciate it. I don't want him thinking he requires the help."

I nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah. That's reasonable," I said. 

Mycroft reached out to shake my hand, and I put my hand in his. "Do you miss Sherlock?" I asked.

Something indecently vulnerable swept across Mycroft's face so quickly the change was staggering. He leaned against his umbrella, something I supposed was partially a security blanket as much as protection from the rain and from unsuspecting enemies.

"I know you and I will never be close, after what happened. But that question hurts me very much," he said. "I often mean to come across as someone who doesn't care, but I never dreamed I fooled even you."

He looked so alone and unwanted standing there, exposed like I'd flayed open his heart without a second thought. Maybe I had.

"You can come by my new flat. Or maybe we could sit at a cafe again."

He straightened up again, icing over the pain expertly, leaving it lingering just beneath the surface in his eyes and his posture, but only because I knew it was there.

"John, you most assuredly do not have to offer that. My presence is both painful and repulsive to you. I understand."

He did look like he understood. My gut sank a little more.

"Well, those are your options. Pick one. Not now; think about it. Call me. No one, not even overconfident men in posh suits, should be as alone as you are. Sherlock loved you, so the least I can do is have you round for tea sometime."

"Th-thank you," he said, voice catching slightly as he stared at me as if I were some wholly new creature.

I waved the papers with my ticket to understanding Greg a little more. "And thank you," I said.

***

The closer I got to his office, the steadier my hand became. I knocked on the door and poked my head inside.

"John! Surprised to see you round here! Come on in," he said.

"Brought your favorite," I said, handing over the small box.

"This is from Mycroft's favorite place," Greg said with a smile.

"Are you spending much time with him now, since...since what happened?" I asked.

"He's pushed me away a bit," Lestrade...Greg...admitted. "When something's really pressing on him, like the fate of the nation or something, he tends to do that. Normally, I'd push right back toward him, but I've been tired."

"Understandable," I said. "Open the box, will you, Lestrade?"

He did so, staring at the message I'd scrawled on the lid. "Will you go out with me? Yes, I'm serious. - John."

I laughed, watching him war with himself as he stared at the words. "If you'd like some time to think, don't worry." I handed over his coffee. "And this is for you too. I do know you've been tired. You look after so many people. It's time someone did a little something for you."

He flushed slightly, daring to look up at me. "Thank you," he said. He reached out to take the coffee, setting it down on his desk, reaching out again to shake my hand. "Believe me, I'll think about it."

Sally poked her head in the door. "If you say yes, I'm takin' you out shopping for something with some color in it," she told Greg. 

He raised an eyebrow. "I'm okay with that," he said. "Okay. Come up with a time and place and I'll give it a shot. Nothin' against you if you change your mind," he added so seriously it was painful.

"Nothing against you either, if you do," I assured him. "Just thought it'd be worth trying."

"It might be, at that," he said with a little grin. 

***

"You...look gorgeous."

He laughed. "Well, I had a good guide. I do feel a bit silly cause she took me to a spa earlier today."

"What? Really?" I laughed.

"Yeah. Ha, something about how I should treat myself and that I need to relax."

"And did it help you relax?"

"Yeah, actually. Though, I feel a bit silly now," he said, looking down at his hands. He offered one up to show me. "It's like looking at Mycroft's hand or something," he said, shaking his head, "only my hands are all big and stubby and it doesn't necessarily suit them, but it's kind of nice all the same."

I reached out and took his hand, looking at it. "Not bad," I said, letting it go. "Yeah, I think you deserve a chance to relax every once in a while."

"I made her let me pay for some of it. She said she had a discount or something, but still, I felt kind of weird." He shrugged. "Anyway, though...should we go?"

"Yeah." I looked him over again. He was wearing a nice blueish green color I couldn't have named if my life depended on it, but it suited him, and most importantly I'm pretty sure he agreed that it did. "You know," I said, "you do look really nice." Actually, he looked a little nicer than me, but I wasn't going to point that out.

He flushed a little. "Thanks, John."

***

Dinner went well. Work didn't even come up. We talked about films and programmes and the fact that we both thought the flowers on Sherlock's grave, the one recognizable bouquet that kept showing up when it died away, were all Mycroft's doing.

Greg told me about times where Mycroft had loosened up, times where he'd done impressions or played charades at a party, and a few times where someone had made Greg feel like he didn't belong but Mycroft wasn't having any of it.

By the time we were full of wine and pasta and headed back to my flat, we'd had so much good, easy conversation it was like we'd been storing it up or something.

He fell asleep resting against me on the sofa as the telly and a single lamp lit up the room. As carefully as I could, I found his hand, curling mine around it, lacing the fingers. No, they weren't pretty hands like Mycroft's or Sherlock's, but I liked the strength of them. And, currently, they were sort of soft.

When he woke again, he squeezed my hand, sitting up and smiling blearily at me. 

"Fell asleep," he said.

I squeezed his hand in return. "Time for bed, I think," I said.

He sat up straight, eyes wide, then he stared at the screen of the telly, not releasing my hand but his grip light and tentative.

"Greg?" I frowned. Then, it hit me. "Oh. I meant it's time for you to head home."

Like that, the tension seemed to melt. "Oh." He turned to look at me. "Oh, I thought...never mind." He smiled softly. 

"No," I said. "And I'm actually not ready for that either."

For that, he leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. I'm sure it must have made me blush. I can't remember the last time I dated someone who I've known for as long as I've known Greg. I can't remember the last time I started out as friends with someone new without pushing for more for so long. 

Maybe it was a sign things'd really work out this time. I kissed him on the cheek in turn. 

***

"I'm glad you punched him," Greg said to me, eyes holding unshed tears as he stared at Sherlock.

"I'm glad you asked him out," Sherlock said to me with forced pleasantness.

I sighed. "It was Sally's idea."

Sherlock tilted his head. "Your hands, Inspector. Sally's doing too?"

"Er. Yeah," he said sheepishly, shoving them in his pockets.

Sherlock looked at us, seeming very pleased. "You look better than when I left," he said.

I frowned and thought about it. Maybe we did. We'd certainly relaxed a little more, and we were more open about things, and a little more confident.

"And I'm glad you didn't allow Mycroft's guilt to eat him alive. It was my idea, what he told Jim. He never wanted to do it, but it was the only way."

Greg nodded for a moment. "Yeah," he told me, lacing our fingers together. "Yeah, I'm really glad you punched him."

I chuckled at the affronted look on Sherlock's face.

"Come on," I said. "Let's go have a drink."

Sherlock looked at our joined hands. "All three of us?"

"Thought I might invite the others too, if that's okay?"

"Others. Mycroft, I suppose?"

"And Sally," Greg said.

Sherlock hesitated. "Alright, but no more. No one else, not yet," he said, seeming very grateful when we agreed to the terms.

Suddenly, I remembered what he'd told me of what he'd been up to out there, all alone. He probably felt a bit like I felt, coming back to London. "We could just stay in, if you like," I said. "And we don't need to invite anyone else."

"Have to get used to it sometime," he said. He'd changed too. Mostly, he seemed grateful and excited to be back, to have won. But there was something haunted in his expression, something I understood that Greg understood too.

"We're gonna help you get back into the swing of things," Greg said gently. "Honestly, we're so glad to have you back."

He looked from Greg to me, like he was trying to catch us in a lie about it. "You no longer want me," he pointed out.

"No, don't even think that," Greg said. reaching up to put his hand on Sherlock's shoulder. I did the same to the one on my side.

"We don't want to date you, no," I said. "But don't you dare think that means we don't want you. We're your best friends."

"You have more friends than you realize," Greg said.

"More friends than you could ever imagine. And I don't care what you say, you're a hero," I said defiantly.

"We love you, you big sack of shit," Greg said, gripping the shoulder briefly before letting go of it. "Now let's have a drink, all of us."

We started to lead the way to the door.

"And Molly," Sherlock said softly. "We've got to invite her too, if even Sally'll be there."

"You can invite any and everyone you like, Sherlock," I said, touched. "That's what it means to have friends. And that's what you fought for, isn't it? The right to have friends."

His lip trembled and he looked away. Graciously, we turned around and continued to lead the way as Sherlock focused on texting Molly.

We didn't let our friends stay lonely anymore.


End file.
